When she spots a sphere of light ahead, she drifts towards it, mesmerised, and lets go of my hand. I stare down at my empty palm, then slip it into my pocket, trying to trap the heat of her touch.
Even though the streets are crowded, no one comes near us. Or her. Glances our way are brief and wary, patrolling enforcers stiffening when they see me—some daring a double take, others dropping their heads at once. If she notices, she doesn’t say, too enraptured by the sights, scents and sounds.
She pauses, watching as more tiny spheres of light gather and hover above her hand, but her gaze keeps darting past them, wary of the crowd pressing around us.
I close the short distance instantly.
“Is it always… like this?” she asks, gazing up at me. Her voice sounds a little too breathless to be just awe.
I concentrate. “Is it too much?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, which is an answer. My caution to touch her too freely is smothered by the need to protect. I drape my arm over her shoulders and draw her in, pressing her against my side, indulging in her heat again.
“No one will come near you,” I murmur. It’s meant to reassure, but it comes out sharp, possessive.
I don’t correct it.
Her hot palm finds my sternum and I bite back a groan. Thankfully, she’s facing ahead.
“How do you know that?” She’s still a little breathless, but it’s no longer just panic as her fingers curl into my shirt.
Still walking, I point to the right. A cluster of beings, huddled close with voices too soft to catch, freeze when they realise we’re looking—when they realise I’m looking. They flinch, then scatter like rodents.
“They’re afraid of me.”
The heat from her palm intensifies. “I’m not,” she says, immediately.So certain.
I glance down at her as she looks up. There’s a soft smile on her face, but there’s a challenge in it too, a spark in her gaze like she’s daring me to contradict her.
“Maybe you should be,” I murmur, voice rougher, lower, something primal threading beneath the words.
Her smile only widens. “Is that because you’re an idimmu?”
Hearing her say that word, in her dolce voice, unafraid on her lips, stops me cold.
I wasn’t prepared to hear it. Hadn’t in so long.
“Ezekial,” she answers the unspoken question, her expression becoming wary. “He told me that word, and he also explained the whole immaruthing…”
The old language never sounded more beautiful.
Her eyes widen, darting over my face, as though afraid she’s upset me. No, I’m only staring because I’m in awe of her.
“I’m glad he told you,” I say, and watch her concern melt into relief. My silence made her worry, and I need to rectify that.
“My brother and I have been in this district long before the temples were even constructed. Most beings who reside here know of us—my brother as a judicious Council member, an enforcer who helped shape the district into what it is today. And me, as his brother, part of his unit, an idimmu…” I catch the flicker in her gaze, like she felt the same thing I did when she said that word. “For the enforcer recruits, I’m also considered a… strict teacher.”
We start moving again. My arm stays firm over her shoulders, keeping her pressed close, my fingers brushing hers so she can’t slip away. I steer her through the crowd, my glarecutting into anyone who drifts too near, shadows curling out to drive them back.
The message is clear to everyone: she is mine.
“Strict? Well, you are good at giving orders.”
I huff out a small laugh, then feel her turn beneath my arm, tilting her face up to mine. Her lips curve into a teasing smirk as she rises onto her toes.
“Do you like it when people obey, Kane?” she whispers. Taunting me, daring me.
My shadows flare, dampening the streetlamps and drifting spheres of light.
